


Be My Poet For Christmas

by RainbowxTommo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BoyxBoy, Christmas, M/M, No Smut, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 02:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13203384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowxTommo/pseuds/RainbowxTommo
Summary: It is the Christmas holidays, Harry's favourite time of the year. He is supposed to spend it working, reading his favourite French poetry and watching cheesy movies; but this time, nothing goes as planned and he is obliged to spend two weeks at his mother's childhood friend's place among her big family. In that expensive house, he meets Louis, a charming 21 year old man who may just erase all trace of disappointment.





	Be My Poet For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you're all having a nice day and enjoying your holidays if you have them :)  
> I am back for a Christmas short story !  
> So I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it :)

[The quotes will be translated at the end of the chapter.]

_**«Vous qui souffrez parce que vous aimez, aimez plus encore. Mourir d’amour, c’est en vivre.»** _

**\- Victor Hugo, _Les Misérables._**

 

_Friday, December the 22nd_

Harry hadn’t been sure about what he was supposed to say when his mother had told him they would spend the 2 weeks break he was allowed in a stranger’s house. He had hesitated between yelling at her for forcing him, a nineteen year old boy, to celebrate Christmas and New Year Eve with people he had never met before; or kindly decline the offer. It had obviously turned out it was not an offer, at all. Indeed, he would be dragged in a foreign city no matter if he liked the idea or not. He wasn’t given the right to choose, this time. So, of course, he was sulking since she had started the car. Silently, he was cursing himself for teaching her about social media months ago. Because that was the main reason he was trapped behind his safety belt at that moment. But how could he have even imagined she would find her childhood best friend on Facebook? Even worse, how could he have imagined she was going to invite his mother and himself to their house? That was not imaginable. He had wanted to be a kind son, well he was now regretting his act of goodness. He hadn’t said a word since he had thrown his luggage in the boot but his mother didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. She was just moving her head in rhythm to the song playing on the radio, some RnB music he wished he could protect his fragile ears from. Harry wasn’t a big fan of anything being played on nowadays radio stations – except Lady Gaga and Sia, they were really some of the few exceptions – and having to drive miles and miles with his mother’s taste in music didn’t help with his bad mood. Therefore, it was not a surprise when he plugged his earphones into his ears and let “ _Imagine_ ” tickle his eardrums. It was one of his all time favourite song, cliché? Maybe, but he really didn’t mind being called a cliché. And really, if he had ever been called anything by people, it was “weird”. From his patterned flannel opened onto his bare chest to his pointy ankle boots no one seemed to like. College treated him much better than High School used to, though. He had even made a couple of friends, Liam and Niall. In all honestly, the boy was quite far from being sociable, and any interaction with other human being was a great cause of deep anxiety. So when Liam and Niall came to him on their own, it was quite a shock to him and he may have taken some time to breathe and talk properly. 

Harry flinched when he realised he was being shaken pretty violently, only to open wide green eyes onto his mother’s annoying happy face. She looked too happy, it was unfair. The young boy sat straight on his seat, looking out of the window to find a big white house with balconies and huge windows. He opened the car door and looked around a bit more attentively. As much as he wanted to be mad to be where he was, the whole place looked incredibly breathtaking. White, yellow and other pale coloured flowers were scattered all over the bright green grass, and he wondered how it could look so colourful with such cold weather. It looked like a rather big garden if you asked him. He could already tell it was circling the house, and it probably extended endlessly behind it. The driveway was made of billions of tiny white and cream rocks. Strangely, even those look crazily beautiful compared to any rock he had ever seen and it sounded really annoying how everything looked so amazing here, with all the strength he was putting into hating the place. When he looked up to the dazzling light grey sky, he raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m surprised the sky isn’t bluer and sunnier here.” he said, sarcasm weighing heavily onto his voice.  
“Harry!” his mother groaned quietly, rolling her eyes to him and walking to the back of the car. 

He joined her and helped her take the suitcases out of the boot. He let escape several loud signs, making it very clear to Anne he wasn’t content with the actual situation. As always, she rolled her eyes and kept silent, not paying him any attention before walking up to the few steps under the porch. Unlike her son, she was excited, she hadn’t met her friend since high school, and, well, yeah, it was quite a long time ago. When they had last hugged, none of them had children or men in their life. It was pretty much the both of them against the whole wide world. When Anne got accepted into this college in London she had been dreaming about, they slowly drew apart, sadly. Her palms were slightly sweaty when she stopped in front of the big black door. It was happening. She felt like a child, like a young teen girl all over again and strangely it was quite comforting. She wanted to remember every single – useless – details of the scene, just so she could recall everything when she would be back to her little town, in her tiny house with her grumpy son. Therefore, she observed the wall, it was quite surprising there wasn’t any Christmas ornament yet. But she saved the white paint of the frontage, the glass lanterns from each side of the door and the golden lion door-knocker. 

“Are you going to stand like this any longer?” Harry exclaimed loudly beside her.  
“Be nice!” she ordered, glaring at him.  
“I am nice, this, this is just crazy and...” 

To stop him from rambling and blaming her with endless reproaches, she hit the doorbell with her forefinger quickly. He closed his mouth in a sudden move and groaned loudly before the door opened on her woman. Her smile was stretched from ear to ear and she spread her arms opened, inviting Anne to crash against her chest. Harry’s mother didn’t wait a minute before embracing her friend and the boy may have heard them sniffing. He never had any “childhood friends”, and maybe he was being a bit of drama queen with all this situation. But his mother hadn’t even thought about the fact he may have planned things for those free days. If he was being honest, he had probably brought as much college work and art requests as clothes. That was how busy he was. But obviously, Anne hadn’t asked about that, it was all about her friend. He understood she was happy, but he just found her to be a bit selfish. He had always been an obedient child, polite, kind, selfless and a hard worker. He hadn’t thought it was such a crazy thing to expect her to allow him to spend his holidays the way he wanted, but apparently it was. 

“Johannah, this is my son, Harry.”  
“Nice to meet you.” he said, forcing a lovely smile onto his lips.  
“It’s nice to meet you too, Harry! Come in, it’s warmer in here.” she exclaimed happily. 

She quickly wiped her cheeks from the emotional tears that had dropped onto her face a couple of minutes earlier. Quickly, Harry realised it was not just the three of them, four girls had joined and oh boy. Four girls? And they didn’t look older than 15. He could already imagine them fighting while he would want to sleep. He had a big sister, and if they were all half as annoying as Gemma, he was ready to run away just now. He tried to plaster a smile on his face when they stared back at him, but it really just came out pretty creepy. 

“Come on girls, greet our guests!” Johannah started as she pulled on the older girl’s wrist, pulling them closer. “This is Lottie! Here we have Félicité, and the youngest, Phoebe and Daisy.” she continued, introducing all of them by putting her hand carefully onto their heads.  
“Nice to meet you all girls, wow, you’re all so pretty, looking just like your mum!” Anne exclaimed with a large smile. “I am Anne and this is my son, Harry.” 

The girls waved at them timidly and quickly enough, they were all running God knew where. Harry took a minute or two to observe the house and it was really even more beautiful than the outside. It was really bright. The hallway was quite long and he could see one of the most majestic staircase he had ever seen, just some feet away from him. This house looked more like a mansion than a house, really. A man appeared from the right, which Harry assumed was the living room or the kitchen. The man was quite tall and a big smile plastered onto his lips. Was he really the only person who was thinking this situation was totally crazy? Was he the only one who wasn’t content to mix their family for two full weeks? 

“Oh, hi! I’m Dan!” the man introduced himself before shaking Harry’s hand and giving a quick hug to Anne. “Let me take those.” he offered, grabbing the suitcases and walking away. 

Harry observed as the man brought their luggage up the tall stairs. 

“Where’s your son?” Anne asked suddenly. 

She had heard about him for so long now she really wanted to get to know him. Apparently, he was the “perfect child” and she really hoped he would rub off on her own son. Harry was not the worst, she knew it, she loved him, with all her heart, just like a mother was supposed to love her offspring. Only, sometimes, he was trapped in his own bubble and wouldn’t pay any attention to anything surrounding him, and it included his mother. 

“He’ll be home later tonight, Friday is his busiest day of the week.” she said with a concerned grimace painted onto her face. 

Anne simply nodded, a bit disappointed. Next to her, Harry was frowning. He didn’t know anything about this family. His mother could have at least talked to him about the several children that could run around the house, when all he needed was deep focus to work. They all seemed very kind and lovely though, and he was really happy not to be trapped in a house with a mean family. 

 

The sun had fully disappeared behind the houses and the canvas spread over the city was painted with the darkest shade of blue, devoid of any stars. They had eaten diner, the most delicious plate of lasagne Harry had ever been given the chance to taste, if you asked him. He may have congratulated Johannah for her incredible cooking skills. The house smelled like cookies and a mix of enlighten candles and surprisingly enough, it was pleasant. The host’s oldest daughters had showed him around, introduced him to every room and that was how he had found out he would have to sleep in that big light pistachio painted room. It was Johannah’s son’s room. When he had asked why he wasn’t going to sleep in the same room as his mother, the girls had timidly let escape Anne had asked to be alone. He had never understood why she was always used to make him look like a terribly annoying person. Admittedly, he was not the most joyful and funniest person out there, but he believed it wouldn’t be such a problem to his mother. Gemma was different, she was very outgoing and loud. As for Harry, most of the time he had his face buried deep into his books, for college or personal purposes. It was simply who he was. Gemma was staying in London for the holidays, she wanted to spend Christmas with her friends. Harry didn’t say a word, he didn’t complain; if she wanted to have fun, he refused to make her feel guilty. Although they were very different, they were two close siblings. No matter the fights, they had remained close. He was certain the current situation would be much more bearable if she was there with him. But she wasn’t, and he had to endure it on his own. Oddly, he felt quite comfortable sitting down on the fluffy carpet, his back against the couch and staring at the big TV in the huge children’s playroom. They were nice and calm girls, unlike what he had imagined them to be. The young twins were trying to braid his hair, and maybe he could hear them start to fight in whispers; something about the other not being able to do it right. He hissed every now and then when they pulled too hard on a curl and they would overly apologise, dropping his hair before having to start it all over again. It was cute, if anything. It wasn’t too bad as long as he could chuckle mindlessly watching _How The Grinch Stole Christmas_ with them. Grown up people were too used to judge everyone about any little things too easily for him to feel comfortable around them. The girls didn’t mind Belle or The Beast embroidered onto his pyjamas. Neither did they mind his fluffy white and pink heart patterned slippers. So they all kept on with their occupation until a loud voice was heard from downstairs, making Harry flinch. He placed a hand over his chest carefully as his heart raced behind his rib cage.

“That’s Lou!” one of the girl exclaimed. 

Before he could even understand what was happening, the four of them were running out of the room and he was soon left alone. He couldn’t decide whether he needed to follow them to greet the new stranger, or stay here and hide until someone notice he was missing. The young boy took a moment, his eyes still locked to the television screen. From what he knew, Johannah’s son was a bit older than him. It was not surprising he was stressing over the sociable experience he would have to face in a moment. He had never been really comfortable with people his age. But after a couple of minutes, he decided it was really impolite of him to stay hidden in there. He stood up slowly, his heart jumping a bit too hard into his chest. How bad he wished he could get rid of the anxiety gnawing his stomach. Once he reached the top of the stairs, he looked down discreetly. The girls were gathered around a thin boy, he couldn’t see much from where he was perched. The back of his head, at most and the heavy looking denim jacket he was wearing. So he walked downstairs quietly, he couldn’t draw attention onto him. He moved near his mother who barely gave him a look. Disappointed, he looked back down to his slippers covered feet. He wondered what the boy would think of the way he was dressed, or the way he smelled. Coconut and vanilla. No, nothing minty like all those male shower gel and shampoo – he still wondered why men and women needed different product – tended to overproduce for some supposedly “real manly men”, stupid really. He was just as much as a man as any other, no matter his fluffy Disney pyjamas and chocolate curls. And if anyone ever doubted it, he could still prove it to them. 

“Louis, please, meet our guests.” Johannah said with a smile, walking closer to her son when her daughters stepped away. 

He turned around and Harry didn’t dare to look up for a moment. He didn’t want to earn a glare, some judgemental look that would clearly say “ _don’t even think about touching me_ ”, or something similar to that. He had got many of those, he could recognise them easily. But he had never had to live in a house for two weeks with one of those judgemental close-minded prick. And if that Louis man was one of them, he would for sure jump right into his mother’s car and drive back to his place. Not so discreetly, Anne elbowed his ribs and he hissed silently before looking up to the stranger slowly. And wow, that was a pretty stranger. He swore he could bounce on the couch and celebrate victory when he noticed the judgemental glare wasn’t anywhere visible onto the boy’s pale face. Instead of that, a shy smile was stretching his thin pinkish lips, and he would lie if he said it didn’t make his cheeks burn painfully.

**_“Le ciel est de cuivre sans lueur aucune, on croirait voir vivre et mourir la lune.”_ **

**-Paul Verlaine, _Dans l’interminable ennui de la plaine._**

 

_Saturday, December the 23rd_

Harry hadn’t had to face Louis the previous night, neither when he had fallen asleep, nor when he had woken up in the middle of the night; a bit confused about what the hell he was doing lying on a bright pink fluffy carpet surrounded by beheaded Barbies. Yes, he had fallen asleep in the playroom while he was watching another Christmas movie with the girls. When he has woken up around 4 am, he couldn’t imagine knocking to the boy’s door. They still probably had to at least lay a mattress on the ground, and he hadn’t wanted to wake up anyone. He felt like an intruder in this huge fancy looking place. It looked more like a marble and golden maze than a house.  
When he woke up again, he was glad to read 10:30 on his phone screen. Finally he could make some noise. He stretched a bit on the small couch, yawning silently and pulling on the sleeves of his Beauty and The Beast sweater he was wearing. The sofa was very comfortable, really, he wouldn’t mind sleeping there for the rest of the holidays. He got up and timidly dragged his feet to the bathroom, grimacing a bit at the loud conversation going on downstairs. The feminines voices were piercing his eardrums. He pressed his left fist against his closed lid, massaging slightly as he yawned quietly. When he opened the door, he let his hand fall back to his side lazily. He had a lot of work ahead of him. The whole weeks were planned and he couldn’t betray his precise program, it was very important to follow it strictly. Between the drawing requests and all the college assignments, it was going to be a couple of busy weeks. Drawing was an alternative to just lay in bed and wait for the heavy flow of thoughts to leave his brain. It actually worked, most of the time. He gathered all his focus and attention onto his charcoal pencils and the white sheet and there was no more place for anything else. After a couple of years, it appeared he wasn’t too bad at it and quickly enough, people had started requesting portrait from him. Maybe he found in their requests the possibility of earning a bit of money while doing what he loved. So he had jumped on the occasion. That’s only when he opened his tired eyes after the long and jaw breaking yawn that he realised the bathroom was not empty. Louis was standing in front of the majestic vanity, holding his toothbrush into his toothpaste full mouth, an eyebrow raised. His hair was messy, translating he had probably just woken up. He was wearing a long fluffy light turquoise robe, tied loosely around his waist with a dark blue silky ribbon/belt. Harry wanted to make a comment about the colour of the robe not being too Christmassy, and the fact it was quite a disappointment to him but he kept his lips sealed. Firstly, neither the inside of the house, nor the exterior was decorated. For God sake, there wasn’t even any Christmas Tree. This house was too big, the ceiling too tall and the chimney too royal not to place a huge Christmas Tree in the corner of the living room or in the corner of every room for that matter. It was a waste of place, a waste of beauty. Harry was a Christmas lover, if you hadn’t noticed already. He liked to decorate the house from the floor to the ceiling, each window, door and wall needed its own ornament. He loved to binge watch overly cheesy Christmas TV films nobody knew or remembered. He needed his Disney Christmas pyjamas – just like the Beauty and The Beast one he was wearing, it was his all time favourite – while watching The Enchanted Christmas (yes, The Beauty and The Beast, still) wrapped in a fluffy Christmas duvet. Hot chocolate; reindeer shaped cookies dipped in a cup of home made eggnog; fir cones here and there; holly hanging in each door frame. That was Harry’s Christmas. Not two weeks trapped in a non-decorated unknown house with a bunch of strangers. Definitely not.  
When he saw Louis spit in the sink and rinse his mouth, he was thrown back into reality. The boy carefully wipe his mouth with a light blue hand towel before slowly turning toward Harry. 

“Weren’t you suppose to sleep in my room?” he suddenly asked, his arms crossed over his chest. 

Harry swallowed silently. There was some sort of tension floating around them, but the younger boy couldn’t really tell to what it was due. Probably the fact they hadn’t even ever talked to each other. He cleared his throat, trying his best to put up a front although all his body was screaming to him was to run away. 

“I fell asleep in the playroom and I didn’t want to wake you up, it would have been impolite.” he simply explained, pretty proud of himself when he noticed he hadn’t stuttered once. 

Louis nodded and stared at him for what seemed to last much longer than a handful of seconds. So obviously, the curly haired boy’s eyes quickly fell onto the white and golden tilling of the floor. He was not too fond of any type of confrontation even though it was not really one. But Louis just looked a bit too confident, it caused a way too violent contrast with Harry’s strong timidity. Unlike the latter whose arms were stuck awkwardly to his sides and who was stooping forward oddly, Louis was standing straight, his arms crossed over his chest and head higher than Harry could ever hold his own. It looked like all his weight rested on his left hips and his right leg was straight a bit forward. The pose seemed to fit better at the end of a catwalk than in a middle of a bathroom. After a moment, Louis stopped staring and his arms fell on each side of his hips and he took a couple of steps forward. 

“Well, if it happens again, don’t worry, just knock. I won’t mind.” 

Harry dared to look up, only to witness a small but genuine smile over the boy’s lips before he left the room. He leaned over the sink, breathing in deeply and letting the air escape his lips slowly. He hated waking up to face anxiety. That was not the kind of morning he wanted during the holiday, but he had to admit it was some pretty handsome anxiety, literally speaking. 

 

“You’re not at all flexible!” Lottie complained as she pressed down onto Louis’ shoulders. “I thought you said you’d train! It’s very clear you didn’t do anything.”  
Lottie and Félicité had found themselves quite passionate by yoga during the last twelve months. They had managed to make Louis do some poses and work with them every now and them before he left for university in September. All of this had been funny for him, but when his younger sisters were not around to make jokes and laugh together – and yell at him for making them fail their Downward Facing Dog pose – then it was plain boring. Of course he had said he would train and work hard, but did he really? He had tried, but it was too silent, too boring and he was too lazy. The girls who had expected their older brother to be as flexible as them by now, were deeply disappointed. 

“It was shitty without my two annoying coaches.” he said with a smile. 

Even though Lottie was glaring at him, Félicité was smiling widely behind her. They both had missed him. Honestly, the house was a bit too boring without him. Right, sometimes he could be a bit annoying, but he was just so nice and funny. Maybe Johannah had tried to make jokes, but they were never as good as his. 

“You were just lazy.” the blond teenager exclaimed again, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Louis opened wide eyes and painted an offended expression onto his face, but really, she was right. He sat down on the exercise mat. He looked down to the bright flower patterned yoga pants he had been forced to slide into for this session. Apparently, his Adidas sweatpants were not appropriate for yoga, but he was pretty certain they were. 

“You made me wear that thing, so be nice with me!” he responded childishly. 

Félicité snorted and sat down crossed legs next to him. Her hair was trapped in a tight high ponytail. She was wearing a pair of yoga pants very similar to his, although hers was paler, almost like it had been washed too many times. Knowing the price that _damn_ thing had costed to his mother, he really hoped it was just how it was supposed to look. 

“Your pyjamas is a pair of pink shorts. With red hearts all over it; and bows on the side. So why are you even complaining? Those look good on you!” the younger girl noted, an eyebrow raised closer to her hair line. 

His cheeks quickly felt like burning softly and he shook his head. He liked his pair of pink shorts. They were so soft and comfortable, and adorable also. He truly believed they hugged his curves quite beautifully and maybe he had stared at his reflection for a bit too long because of this reason, but no one needed to know about that. His friend, Zayn, had gave it to him last Christmas, for a joke mostly. Zayn didn’t need to know he loved them so bad, and would wear them no matter the season. The fabric was just very pleasant onto his skin. It would have been a waste to leave them in the darkness of his wardrobe.  
He looked back down to his legs. 

“It’s too… yellow.”  
“Those are sunflowers, Louis, obviously it’s yellow. Are we going to talk about clothing for the rest of the afternoon or are we finally going to work a bit?” Lottie groaned. 

Félicité rolled her eyes and her brother quickly hid his laughter. Soon enough, Lottie was pulling onto Louis’ foot and he was trying his best not to yell or fall over. She was not really gentle, she wanted him to improve in a the blink of an eye, from beginner to whatever level she was at. But a couple of seconds would not fix his lack of flexibility problem. She was persistent, even from all of her fourteen years of age. She had always been. Since her personality had really started to show in kindergarten, it had clearly appeared to everyone she was a very tenacious child. She wouldn’t give up on anything and if she made a decision, everything needed to go as planned. It may have been a bit tiring for others, it demanded a lot of patience with her. She was very mature. They kept on going and Louis accepted the torture without a word.

 

After diner, Harry stayed in the kitchen to help Dan and Johannah cleaning. It was surprising for him to see everyone leave them behind with some random excuses. Anne had got away with a very stupid “I feel a bit dizzy”, which for Harry – who knew her perfectly – only meant she wanted to sit down and watch some TV series. The girls hadn’t needed any excuses, surprisingly enough their help were not required; apparently too young. Louis, as for him, left with a calm “I have work” and he didn’t know him enough to judge the excuse. Johannah was a very calm and quite funny woman. Every now and then, she liked to stroke her round tummy to somewhat reassure the two babies curled up in there. It was a cute thing to witness; how she looked down and smiled, almost like she could see through her own skin. Once Harry had put the food back in the fridge and in the cupboards, he turned toward her. She was standing against the sink and was rubbing vigorously the plates – the holidays was the best period for the dishwasher to break – some foam splashing around onto her clothes. Dan was standing next to her and was wiping the glasses with a towel. Every now and then, they would share a look and smile at each other. Their love was blatant. He walked closer to them and silently grabbed a sponge to clean the table. Johannah smiled at him and raised her eyebrows to her partner. She was surprised to see Harry so enthusiastic about helping around, it was mainly her and Dan who usually cleaned around. She had to admit it got a bit harder to do everything when her stomach was inhabited by two long-awaited babies. Another pair of hands wasn’t too much. Some yelling broke the silence and disturbed the woman’s thoughts. She immediately recognised the piercing voices of her twins and she didn’t need to say anything for Dan to nod, wipe his hands and run upstairs to try and stop the din. Her younger guest walked up to her and stopped by her side.

“Can I wipe those?” he asked, pointing at the dishes with a timid smile.  
“You don’t have to, darling.” she responded. 

He shook his head, chuckling quietly before he grabbed the towel and started wiping the dripping water off the plates. Johannah was surprised she hadn’t heard much about Harry from Anne. She had been rambling about Louis since they had found each other. But she had barely heard about Anne’s son, and the few things she had been told didn’t seem to refer to the same person. Indeed, Harry was supposedly lazy; ungrateful and selfish. The young boy next to her didn’t match the description she had been given. 

“When are you expecting the babies?” he asked, genuinely interested.  
“They’ll most likely be premature, hopefully, they’ll find themselves comfy enough to stay in there as long as possible.” she answered with a smile. 

He simply nodded. He wasn’t sure if she enjoyed his company, his own mother didn’t seem too delighted to spend time with him and he feared to bother his host. She placed the last couple of knives on the side and took off the red gloves that were protecting her manicured hands. After wiping her fingers gently, she grabbed another towel to help Harry. 

“Do you have a girlfriend at home?” she asked suddenly. 

The boy felt his heart tighten a bit inside his chest. He hadn’t had any girlfriend since Year 8. He had quickly found out that being more attracted to her brother than to her was a valuable reason to break up. It had taken a couple of years for him to really figure things out about himself. It had been a quite long and rather scary road to be completely honest. But when he had finally admitted the truth to himself, it was a bit of a relief. Yes, he liked boys, what was the matter? He just did. His mother hadn’t taken the news too badly, admitting she had had doubts already. So really, he knew he was lucky. 

“No, I… I am gay.” he admitted, throwing all his focus to the glass he was holding.  
“Well, do you have a boyfriend, then?” she questioned again. 

Harry looked up to her to see her smiling happily, a large grin stretching her lips. He shook his head quietly. He was too timid, too shy and reserved to even dare have a crush on someone at his school. Of course he had been attracted to a couple of boys, but he wasn’t really looking for a relationship. He may have been 19, it didn’t mean he needed a man by his side at that very moment. He didn’t feel ready to offer so much to one person. He enjoyed the fact he could give love to anyone he knew, just lending a bit of his time, a shoulder to cry on or an ear to confess to. He liked the way life went currently and wasn’t looking for any big change such as a boyfriend. Definitely didn’t need all the problems that came with a relationship. Right, maybe Niall and Liam had been trying to hook him up with several guys. They would turn into Sherlock Holmes to find out who would be interested in boys and simply give away their names to Harry. The latter couldn’t care less. 

“Well you’re young, you have all the time in the world.” she responded. 

He couldn’t agree more. From 14, he had witnessed his class mates trying to date, like it was something they needed to do to become a man or a woman, a grown up. All Harry had needed to do to be a grown up was reading books and learning poems in foreign languages, just to impress… well no one, but did it really matter? He had grown up on his own, he had never needed to share real kisses, to fall in love or to have sex to be a so-called adult. 

“We’re going to decorate the house tonight, do you want to join us? I had hoped we’d do this all together, it could be funny but your mum doesn’t seem really interested in the offer. Maybe you...” Johannah didn’t get the time to finish her sentence before Harry cut her off.  
“I’d love to! I was wondering why such a beautiful house didn’t have any decoration. I am the one who decorate everything at home, so I understand mum doesn’t want to. If you have any present to wrap, I’d love to do it as well!” he exclaimed, maybe a bit too excited and it warmed the woman’s heart.

Harry sounded like such a genuinely kind kid, devoted and truly adorable. Even though he believed he sounded a bit childish, she personally believed it was a cute trait of his personality. He had kept a piece of his child soul, in a way and it was nice to see someone so happy to hang lighting on a tree. She was about to answer when a pretty violent kick stopped her and her eyebrows raised with surprise. The babies didn’t usually kick with such force, usually it was closer to a caress than a real kick. 

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, suddenly concerned when she covered her stomach with her hands.  
“Yes, yes, one of the babies just kicked.” she exclaimed. 

It was an amazing feeling, one of those she could never forget. She had never forgotten the way Louis kicked, really predicted his great ability to play football. Honestly, she had at least one memory from each of her children’s kick. She may had carried five children but the great feeling of the baby kicking or punching and stretching always remained. 

“Really?” he asked, with a large grin due to his sudden excitement. 

He had always wondered how it felt to feel a little human being kick in your tummy. He wished he had the ability to carry a baby just like Johannah, he was sure he would love the feeling, at least he thought he would. She nodded and took one of his hand gently to place it over her stomach. She pressed his fingers slightly and a couple of seconds later, the baby kicked again. It was lighter this time but Harry felt it against his fingers and his eyes lightened up with amazement. He looked back up to her face and she was smiling at him. 

“Wow.” he simply said.  
“I believe they like your voice.” she chuckled lightly. 

He really hoped it was the reason and it wouldn’t hurt anyone if he believed it was the truth, really. 

 

It was almost close to midnight when he found himself sitting down on the swinging seat in the now decorated veranda of the house. The room walls were only made of glass and he had a perfect view of the sky from here. Yes, it was a bit colder here, the glass didn’t stop the icy wind as much as the thick brick walls did but he really liked the quietness of the place. He had wrapped himself in one of his fluffy overly warm duvet – needless to say: with Christmas pattern, obviously – and over his thick socks, he had slipped on his pair of slippers. A really Christmassy scented candle was lit on the small table next to him and he had put on his pair of glasses as he let his eyes run across the sentences. He rarely wore them, only when the lightening of the room wasn’t the best, and when he felt tiredness weighing onto his eyelids. He smiled when his eyes ran over one of his favourite poem. He could never get tired of it. He had always been able to speak French quite properly and so when college appeared to offer a French Poetry course, he jumped on the occasion. That’s how he had found out about Paul Verlaine, definitely one of his all time favourite poet, if not his favourite. He smiled to himself when he read one of the poem he had already read a thousand times and knew by heart by now; in French, obviously. It barely disturbed his focus when someone sat down silently beside him on the long seat – making it swing slightly – and leant over his shoulder to take a look at the book he was holding. The person scoffed loudly and Harry frowned before looking up to Louis who was looking right back at him. 

“What are you reading?” he asked, curious.  
“ _Romances sans paroles._ ” 

Louis’ eyebrows raised a bit and he looked deeply confused. On him, it looked rather cute, strangely. 

“It’s a poetry collection.” he quickly added.  
“Oh. You like poetry, then?” 

A timid smile appeared on the younger boy’s lips and he nodded softly. Would Louis think he was weird? He had heard countless stupidities about how men who liked poetry were weak, fragile or plenty dumb. He got some of those told to his face. Whenever he found himself have enough guts to respond, he would simply ask them to give him 5 figures of speech. Usually, they wouldn’t answer and he would then proceed to ask them – a bit proudly – who was the dumb one. So he was really ready to defend himself and ask Louis to give him the definition of a chiasmus or an oxymoron (he still hesitated) when the boy spoke up: 

“That’s cute...” 

The curly haired boy couldn’t tell if it was a compliment or a mocking so he squinted, almost like he could read Louis’ intentions. The man must have noticed because he quickly added, shaking his head: 

“I mean, really. I don’t know anything about poetry… I mean, apart from metaphor… So, I think it’s cute.” 

Even under the coldish temperature, Harry’s cheeks managed to burn and he looked back down to his book, mumbling a barely audible thank you. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed Louis shuddering a bit, rubbing his bare arms with his hands. His heart was tight when the idea came up to his mind. He wasn’t used to talk to people he barely knew, people his age. But he carefully stretched his arm to open the duvet, offering it to Louis. If the boy refused, it would be embarrassing and Harry had always had bad reaction to embarrassment so he begged he would accept the kind offer. Louis smiled and took the end of the soft duvet in his hand before sliding it over his own shoulders. It was big enough to cover the both of them without the boys being forced to squeeze against each other and Harry was grateful for that. The younger boy simply stared at the sky through the tall glass wall, it was dark, there weren’t any stars and the moon was half on display, half hidden behind a dark cloud. Once again, he smiled to himself before he broke the silence: 

“Le ciel est de cuivre sans lueur aucune, on croirait voir vivre et mourir la lune.”  
“What does that mean?” he heard the soft voice beside him.  
“It’s about the lack of light in the sky, about the moon living and dying.” 

It was silent for a moment, and Harry believed he had freaked the boy out. It could be possible, it was plausible even. It wouldn’t be the first time he scared someone with his weird knowledge in French poetry; even though he could not understand what was so scary about it. Poetry was pure art. 

“It sounded... melodic. It was nice.”  
“Paul Verlaine knew how to play with words so it would sound just like music, but without any instrument. That’s the main difference with English poetry which usually uses Iambic Pentameter, it’s repetitive, not all syllable are foot, it’s composition of stressed and unstressed syllable that makes a foot. Unlike French Poetry in which each syllable is a foot on its own. So it’s indeed more melodic.” 

The boy was rambling on a subject Louis had never learnt about, was using words he had never heard before, was talking about a language he had never cared to speak, but strangely he was hanging onto Harry’s every word.

_**“J’écrivais des silences, des nuits. Je notais l’inexprimable. Je fixais des vertiges.”** _

**\- Arthur Rimbaud, _Une Saison En Enfer._**

_Sunday, December the 24th_

It was almost 1 pm. The sun was high in the almost white sky, but it was as cold as ever. No one should be fooled by the way Harry was comfortably curled up in one of his numerous fluffy duvet, a cup of hot chocolate – that had been made by the lovely host who had thought everyone should get one in the freezing weather of winter – in his hand and earphones plugged into his ears. He was not chilling in the couch, he was actually trying to work the best he could. He had a couple of poems to write for his Written Expression course. Harry couldn’t really complain about it, really, it was one of his favourite class. He was always walking to Mr. Andrews’ classroom with a big smile spread onto his face, no matter if it was on the highest floor of the building, it was always a pleasure to go. Well, not always, he wasn’t fond of arguments. Fortunately, this one assignment was about poetry. This semester had been mostly centred on poetry so it came as an evidence when the teacher gave them this assignment. Two 4 quatrains long poems, every lines of verse should be Alexandrine. No matter what the theme was, the range of themes and subject wasn’t limited, to Harry’s pleasure. It was stressful though. No matter the work Harry had to do, no matter if he was excited about it, he always remained anxious about not being good enough. He knew he was average in writing and it was far from enough for him. He liked his teachers to remember him for the work he had handed them. The idea he was a bit better than most of his classmates, played with words smartly enough for teachers to remember his creation was a warm feeling, it was reassuring. 

“Come on, Harry. Focus.” he groaned to himself. 

He liked the subject of the assignment, but he hadn’t had decided on what he was going to write about. He knew it needed to be something important enough for him to pour some feelings into his work. He couldn’t just throw a bunch of random words and hope it would work out. That was not his vision of literature. In all honesty, he could describe this house, it was stunning but it didn’t have any meaning to him. It wouldn’t remain in people’s mind. His eyes was tightly shut as he was trying to bury deep into his mind to find something. Once he would set his brain on it, all of this would be easier, funnier. Strangely, the hardest part for him was to try and make a good decision, it was far from easy. Writing and creating was the enjoyable part of it all. 

“What are you doing?”

The voice torn him away from his thoughts and he opened one of his eye, landing his vision onto Louis. The boy was wearing a blue, red and white onesie. Harry wasn’t sure if the piece of clothing was too big for Louis or if it was supposed to be oversized, but he tended to choose the first option. After all, Louis wasn’t the biggest boy of all. He was holding a book tightly against his chest, as well as his own cup of hot chocolate. 

“Trying to work, I guess...” he sighed before sipping a bit of his drink. 

The older boy pointed at the small place between Harry and the armrest of the couch. 

“Can I sit? I won’t disturb.”  
“Are you asking to sit on your own couch, in your own house?” the curly haired boy asked, amused.

Louis shrugged and smiled before Harry pushed his laptop away from his lap to crawl on the left so the boy could sit down next to him. He had been racking his brains for an hour, plus he was absolutely exhausted from the heavy insomnia that had kept him awake the previous night; that’s for those two reasons he closed his laptop in a sudden move. After a short moment of silence, Louis handed him a soft-cover book. It was blue, with a rough sketch of a man. Harry didn’t take the time to read what the title was because Louis spoke up quickly: 

“The name you said yesterday sounded familiar. My mum used to like poetry a lot. She read some to me when I was a kid, I didn’t get to hear fairy tales, nop, I got poetry. But anyway, I went to look at her bookcase in her office and I found this. It’s the same poet you talked about yesterday, right?” he asked. 

The least you could say was that Harry was confused. He was deeply confused, it wasn’t even enough to describe how he felt. He looked down to the book again, allowing the object some more of his focus. Louis shook it a bit as he chuckled. Harry hadn’t grabbed it yet and he felt a bit stupid when he wrapped his hands around it and brought it closer to his face. “One Hundred And One Poems By Paul Verlaine” was written at the top. Louis shouldn’t do that. Harry was not used to be treated that way and if he hadn’t put all his strength into retaining his heavy tears behind his lids, he would be a sobbing mess already. If he cried, Louis would freak out. Because let’s be honest, there wasn’t any reason to cry at the moment. Or at least, it wasn’t a reason for any other human being except Harry. The boy could cry right now, right there. Whenever someone acted too kindly to him, it made him so overly happy that it was hard to contain his emotion. 

“So, is it him?” the older boy asked again. 

Harry couldn’t say anything and he simply nodded, forcing a smile onto his lips. He observed the cover for quite some times in silence. He could feel Louis’ eyes on him but for once, he didn’t mind being watched. Sure, it still wasn’t the best feeling in the world but it was fine. 

“I knew it! I think she has quite a lot of French poet’s books in her office, we could go and check one day if you want. You probably know them better than me.” 

Harry nodded, stuck under a rock of heavy timidity. He was not sure how he was supposed to feel about all that situation and that bunch of kindness thrown at his face so nicely, but he liked it. They stayed silent for a moment, Harry gathering himself slowly and Louis focused on his apparently really interesting phone screen; but Harry broke the silence himself.

“So, are you going to go out or have friends over?” he asked curiously, his eyes still locked into the pages of the thin book.  
“Why would I?” Louis wondered, his eyebrow raised. 

The younger boy lifted his green eyes and landed them onto his host’s face. The most surprising was that a genuine troubled expression was painted over his face, like he truly didn’t know what Harry meant. He closed the book and put it onto his laps before turning to the older boy entirely. 

“Well, I’ve been woken up by an army of girls bursting into your room with a tray with roses and breakfast, singing Happy Birthday; so surprisingly, I assumed it was your birthday.” 

Louis chuckled and looked down to his hands, shaking his head gently. His light feathery hair flew around a bit and Harry found himself wanting to reach to touch it and find out if it felt as soft as it looked. The odd and new feeling made him tighten his fingers around the book to make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid. 

“It is my birthday, indeed. But I won’t have anyone over. My best friend was supposed to stop by before leaving for Norway, but well, he cancelled. I could have spent the day with my girlfriend but we broke up last month, so I have absolutely no plan.” 

The chuckle that followed his last sentence was obviously forced, just like the grin stretching his lips. Harry felt his heart tighten into his chest as the soft voice caressed his eardrums with those words. He was mostly annoyed as he realised the hint of jealousy tickling his stomach at the word girlfriend. And really, it was not the time, not the place, not the guy. He still felt bad at the sudden sadness covering the blue eyed boy’s beautiful face and he asked, unsure of the words to use in that situation:

“Are you okay, though? I mean, the break up and all that...” 

Louis looked up and nodded, a small smile replacing the overly fake grin from before. 

“We both knew it was the end, it was just harder to put it into words, you know?” he shrugged, sipping a bit from his cup.  
“I guess so, yes.” Harry simply answered, because honestly, no, he didn’t know.  
“Didn’t you go through any break up, or are you always the one who break the ladies’ hearts?” Louis wondered out loud, chuckling a bit a the end of his sentence. 

Harry looked back up again, frowning deeply. He didn’t think he looked like someone to do such things as play with people’s heart and break them. And he truly, deeply hoped he didn’t look like one of those people selfish enough to play with other’s feelings as if they were pawns on the chess board. He really wished he would never have to hurt anyone, in any way, ever. It was his obsessive fear, to be the cause of someone’s pain. He would never get through the guilt alive. 

“My last relationship”, he started, miming quotations marks with his fingers as he pronounced relationship, “dates from Year 8.” 

Louis seemed surprised, his eyes wide opened and his eyebrows higher than usual. 

“Well, how did it end?” 

Strangely, a – tiny – wave of confidence rushed through his veins and he managed to say, to his own surprise:

“I liked her brother, she noticed, she broke up.” 

His eyes were glued to the book. The wave had left as soon and fast as it had appeared and he was left terrified of Louis’ reaction. He waited a second, then five but the boy remained silent and when he was about to speak, Harry chickened out and jumped onto his feet. He left the cup onto the small table, grabbed his laptop, the small book and the couple of blank drawing sheets and without sending any glance at his host, he whispered “I have work.” and rushed to the guest room. He knew his mother wasn’t fond of having him or spending any kind of time with him during those holidays but he needed somewhere to hide until he was ready to face Louis’ judgemental looks. Fortunately, Anne was out for some last minute grocery shopping with Johannah. He laid down on the bed, opening his laptop and found the picture he was supposed to work on the next days. He didn’t want to focus on college work and refused to let his thoughts torture his brain, wondering endlessly and uselessly what Louis would next tell him. He wasn’t ready to face him and whatever he now thought of him. He was too scared. Louis had acted so nicely to him, have given him a kindness he wasn’t usually used to receive from strangers. Blame him for not wanting this strangely pink world to shatter. It had seemed as if Louis was interested by what Harry said and it was a first time, it was nice to feel interesting for once. It was a bonus that the one who gave him his attention was a really pretty and delicate looking young man. He wouldn’t claim to know whatever this attention was, maybe it was just curiosity, who knew? But he liked it nonetheless.  
He was halfway through it when the door opened and his mother entered the room, a long and loud exasperated sigh crossing her lips as she noticed his presence. He had always wondered why she seemed to have those periods where she wanted to be the farthest away from her own son. She was not like that with Gemma, never acted like that. And it pained him badly. Several times, he had tried to find what was wrong with him. He had made lists of all his flaws, boring, really not funny, annoying, slow and the lists went on and on. Maybe, once or twice, he had found himself writing “gay” in the flaws column. For no particular reason, but it had crossed his mind it could have been his sexual orientation that his mother rejected. He knew he could be a better son, a better person, no one could claim they didn’t have anything to fix on their personality. But he truly wish it wasn’t his homosexuality he was supposed to change, because it wouldn’t happen any time soon. 

“What are you doing here, you have your own room!” she protested.  
“Technically, no.” 

He rolled onto his back and sat down, slowly gathering his stuff to leave and hide in the playroom or in the veranda, he didn’t know yet. The only thing he was certain about was that he was not welcomed here anymore. 

“You need to change, it’s Christmas Eve.”  
“I can’t change. Please, mum, can I sleep in that room with you tonight?”  
“Why that? Louis is an adorable boy, you’re being annoying Harry. He agreed on sharing his room with you so you’ll sleep there.”

Harry let his eyes fall on the expensive looking carpet under his feet. He wanted to talk back to her. He was mad at her, at her indifference and the way she was constantly treating him. During his very short presence in this house, he had witnessed so much love shared among his hosts, kisses, cute nicknames, hugs and cuddles. It was unfair. He wanted his mother to hug him, to tell him she loved him, but he couldn’t remember the last time it had happened and that was very saddening to him. He sighed loudly and got up onto his feet holding his laptop and drawing against his chest. He walked up to the door and opened it. Tears were making his eyes shine and his throat was tighter than usual. 

“You know, I don’t know what I’ve done, but you should be honest with me, because I’m truly getting tired of you rejecting him all the time. I am really, really tired, mum.” 

He then turned on his heels and walked away. He told the truth, he was getting terribly exhausted of the strange way his mother was treating him. It almost seemed as if she was forced into her role of mother, and it seemed to be more of a burden than a pleasure for her. He would give anything to know why she was like that with him. Because it must have been him since she wasn’t like that with his sister. It was unfair. He tried his best, always. He tried to do good at school, tried to be the best version of himself, nothing worked. He knocked on the door of Louis’ room. He didn’t even have the strength to worry about the way he would look at him or how things could turn out if Louis happened to be homophobic. A soft voice invited him to come in, which he did. He didn’t look up from his feet, he tossed his stuff on the mattress laying on the ground and quickly grabbed a button up shirt, a pair of skinnies with a belt and his boots. 

“What are you doing?” Louis asked, confused.  
“My mother wants me to change for Christmas Eve.” he responded, rushing out of the room to hide in the bathroom. 

Unfortunately, the room was occupied and he was about to leave when he noticed the girls sitting on the tilling with make up scattered all around them. 

“No, you can stay! You can change behind the folding screen there!” Félicité answered as she noticed the sadness painting his face. 

So he did. He had nowhere else to go, anyway. He didn’t want to meet Louis before diner, really, nor his mother. The girls were always nice to him, they treated him well and were quite funny. He took a couple of minutes to change. He buttoned his short sleeves hearts patterned black and white shirt all the way up. He stuck the bottom of it into his tight pair of black skinny jeans, tied a belt tightly around his hips and slipped his feet into his black boots. He really didn’t have anything better to wear and truly, he believed it was okay. 

“Hey, you look cute!” Lottie exclaimed, jumping onto her feet and smiling widely.  
“Can we do your hair, though?” Phoebe asked. 

He ran a hand through his hair, indeed, his curls were flat and his hair wasn’t at all appealing at the moment so he shrugged and sat down next to them. Quickly enough, hairspray was thrown at him and hands plunged into his bunch of curls. 

 

They had stayed together until Johannah’s voice broke their laughing session. He was glad he had them. Yes, they were much younger, but they were so kind and adorable and funny, they had cheered him up in less then ten minutes. He hadn’t had to spend the last hours drowned in anxiety and fear of facing people he didn’t want to face. But now it was time and Phoebe jumped on his back before he could fully get up on his feet. He didn’t mind and even chuckled a bit. Daisy jumped on Lottie’s back soon after and all five of them walked to the large and beautiful illuminated living room laughing loudly. 

“Phoebe! What are you doing to that poor boy?” Johannah questioned, genuinely concerned.  
“Oh, right, thanks for caring, mum!” Lottie exclaimed, laughing as her little sister jumped off her back and hugged her softly. 

Phoebe jumped off a couple of seconds later and she pulled on the back of his shirt to straight the fabric back to its normal. He avoided Louis’ and his mum’s side of the table and focused on Johannah who was now smiling widely to him.  
A storm had woken up outside, the snow was falling heavily on the roofs and tarmac and it was getting quite violent but no one really cared. It couldn’t be that bad. But it was. In a matter of hours, as they were eating the different kind of expensive dessert, the light went off and the twins screamed loudly. One of them must have grabbed Harry’s arm in the process because he could now feel nails digging into his skin quite painfully. He patted the hand gently, letting her know it was fine and everything was going to be okay, there was no need to tear his wrist off his arm. Johannah got up carefully, a hand sprawled over her round tummy. 

“I am going to look for the candles. Dan, can you lit the ones on the table and on the chimney, please?”

The fire of the chimney was stopping them from being plunged in complete darkness and he could feel eyes on him. He quickly stood up, the feet of his chair making an horrendous noises on the floor and he almost ran to Johannah’s side. 

“I’ll help you.” 

She was surprised at first, but as always, she ended up smiling happily and it warmed his heart. He wished he could witness this type of smile on his own mother’s face when he was by her side. They were looking into drawers or the kitchen when she spoke up, sounding strangely hesitant. 

“Do you get on better with my daughters than with Louis?” 

He dropped one of the candle on the counter but quickly took it back. The question surprised him and he wasn’t sure what to answer, or what was right to answer or if there was a right answer, really. She must have noticed his hesitation because she talked again, not waiting for an answer. 

“I hope he hadn’t been rude to you? If he did, I’m...”  
“No, no, he was kind. I rarely get on with people my age, it’s nothing about your son, I promise. I am just, weird…”  
“You’re not weird, darling. Why would you think that of yourself?”

He didn’t answer, simply shrugged. He wanted to talk to her, tell her what was on his mind, just like he would do if his mother cared for him, but she remained a stranger, a very kind and caring one, but still a stranger. 

“Mum! Phoebe wants to open the gifts! And it isn’t midnight!” Daisy yelled from the living room. 

Their mother chuckled and they both turned around to go back to the living room where everyone was still sitting. He noticed the way Anne laughed as she spoke with Louis and it made him more upset than he were before. Why did she have to look so happy to talk with him. He was suppose to be the one to earn those large grin and happy laughter. Because he was her son. He set the candles on the table and excused himself, saying he felt slightly dizzy and he went to lay down, hidden under the heavy covers. He didn’t want to be here.  
He stayed hidden alone in the room for what seemed to last hours. He had clipped a small lamp to the book he was reading. The light hadn’t come back yet, but fortunately he was always carrying the clip lamp to read anywhere and in any situation. Arthur Rimbaud. He liked to remind himself how talented he was at such a young age. He had been a true character to himself, different from other men of his time. And even though Harry felt like he was his total opposite, he didn’t have an adventurer’s soul or any true talent, himself felt entirely different from others. He felt out of the mould, and so far from ever fitting in it. It was not a big deal, he just felt different, maybe too different. It felt as if nothing will ever work for him. His phone suddenly rang and he felt his heart warm behind his rib cage when he read the name on the phone screen. He quickly typed on the green icon and brought the phone to his ear. 

“Harry!” his friends’ voices chanted in unison. 

It was far for melodious but it cheered him up. 

“How is Christmas Eve going?” Harry asked, chuckling softly.  
“Great, Niall’s mum ended up saying yes to let him come to my place. If you were there, it would be even better! But how is it going for you there?” 

Harry sighed loudly and he rolled onto his back, letting his book opened on his chest. He had changed into his pair of Disney pyjamas, it was comfortable and warm and if he was in his own bed and not onto a mattress on the floor, it would be perfect. 

“Not that great…” he sighed loudly.  
“Why that? You said they were nice in your texts yesterday!” Liam asked, sounding confused from the sudden change.  
“It’s… complicated.” he whispered.  
“Come on, ramble!” Niall almost shouted, and right, he must have drank a bit too much.  
“I may have implied I way gay, and I don’t think he took it well… I don’t want to face him. I am scared.”  
“Why are you scared? Did he say anything rude or disrespectful, I swear if...” Liam started but Harry stopped him quickly. 

His friends were quite protective of him. Maybe he had become even a bit less sociable since he knew them. He couldn’t blame them. He knew they were always worried. They believed he was fragile and needed to be protected at all cost, because he was like a small child whose heart was still pure and intact. It wasn’t, but he couldn’t dare to ever contradict them. He liked the way they both overly cared for him and were always around to chose who was allowed to talk to him. Yes, right, maybe it was a bit too much but he enjoyed it. 

“No, no. He just… Well he didn’t say anything so I got worried and I left.”  
“You should ask him if he has a problem with that.” offered Niall, suddenly calmer.  
“And if he does, we’ll fly to you and fix his problem!” Liam laughed.  
“Stop… Maybe he’s just one of those who think I ogle on every single boy on this earth.”

Harry closed his eyes and turned on his left, keeping his phone trapped between his left ear and the pillow and he sighed loudly. He hoped Louis was not one of those, they were deeply upsetting. At high school, he was at the very bottom of the stupid hierarchic pyramid so he was teased every now and then because of his sexual orientation. It wasn’t bullying, really. They simply enjoyed irritating him here and there, it was their hobby. So the locker room was their playroom. He was not out of the closet yet. He had never found it useful to let the place he went to learn know he was attracted to men. And apparently, no 16 year old boy was allowed to wear floral shirt and be straight at the same time. So quickly enough, people had started spreading rumours about him. He never understood why it was so important for them to know if their class mate – class mate they never even interacted with – was gay or not. What could it bring to them? Certainly, nothing. So he got the usual dumb things said to him during PE, how everyone should hide to be sure not to be checked out by the weird boy. And he could beg for Louis not to be one of those. 

“That’s so stupid.” Niall responded. “You never ogled on me, and really I still don’t understand why, because, let’s be honest, I am pretty cute!” he burst into laughter and Liam groaned. 

Harry chuckled when he heard Liam ordering him to be quiet and letting him know he should really sleep and stop drinking.

“Is he cute? Like, as cute as me?” Niall asked, his sentence still ending into loud laughter. 

He kept listening to the small and ridiculous fight his friends were having miles away from him. It was something about Liam telling Niall he was not that cute and Niall getting mad. Once it got quieter, Liam spoke up again. 

“Is he though?”  
“Oh, gosh, Liam!” Harry whisper yelled.  
“What? I am just curious!”  
“Send a picture!” Niall yelled, forcing Harry to jump away from his screen. He truly needed some time away from alcohol.  
“Why would I…” Harry stopped, thinking about that picture Johannah had sent to everyone’s phone of the whole group during the decorating of the house. 

He quickly searched through his phone, not paying attention to Liam and Niall’s new fight. He missed them. He wished he was with them, he wondered if he would yell at Niall as well. Probably not, he was the quiet one of the group, to no one’s surprise. He soon found the picture. Louis was next to his mother and she was holding his hand just like she would do to a younger version of him, it was adorable. He quickly sent the picture. 

“The one on the right.” he then said. 

The line went fully silent for a short moment before they both started yelling. 

“Damn, he’s more than cute! I swear if he’s one of those asshole, I’ll be so disappointed!” Liam exclaimed.  
“Yes, he’s handsome!” Niall said at the same time.  
“I know, right?” the other boy replied. 

And it went on for a couple of minutes. Harry couldn’t understand much of their conversation apart from the small snippets he was able to catch, something about his eyes, his hair, he believed he even managed to catch “hot” in the messy bunch of random words. 

“Okay, guys, calm down!” he chuckled.  
“Really? Don’t you think so?”  
“You’re really embarrassing, seriously.” Harry whispered, rubbing his face, embarrassed by his friends’ sudden interest. 

It wasn’t really a surprise though. He was used to witness them comment on boys around him. He had stopped counting how many times he was sitting on a chair with their voice talking about a certain boy he should date. He really suspected them of making each boy go through a deep interrogation, but he had never dared to ask what kind of questions they were obligated to answer. He was too scared of the reality of what they were capable of.

“You should ask him about it, and if he doesn’t have any problem with it...” Liam started, taking a pause to think about what he would say next.  
“Kiss him.”  
“What the hell, Niall?” Harry cried out. “I won’t do that! Are you being serious? Drop the alcohol, you had enough!”  
“You need to get some, Haz’!”  
“Oh my God, what is wrong with you, I am hanging up!”

Liam started yelling at Niall and by the loud noise that followed, he suspected Liam had pushed him off the bed. He would have done the same if he was there. His cheeks were burning from embarrassment and he hid his face behind his hand. 

“Okay, I need to take care of him, he’s a mess.” Liam started. “But seriously, I am not saying Niall is right but, I am pretty sure you like that guy and he seems nice and maybe you wrongly interpreted his silence. Just ask him. I would if I was there, but I am not, so please, clear things up.” 

Harry didn’t have time to answer because his friend hung up quickly after. He was left to think about what Liam had said. He was not certain he had enough guts to face Louis. He had been so kind to him and he didn’t want the good image he had created of the young man to fall apart. He wanted to keep at least one or two good memories from the holidays.  
He took back his books and read the letter he had left when his phone had rang. But the quietness was quickly interrupted when the door opened. Louis was standing on the frame, in one hand a large candle and the other was holding something tightly hidden in his fist. He walked in, closing the door behind him and put the candle on the bedside table between his bed and Harry’s temporary bed. 

“I asked my mother the key of her office, do you want to come and check for other books?” 

Harry was a bit surprised by the sudden proposition, even more by the fact it was still a thing. He lifted his torso and leant on his elbows. 

“Really?” 

Louis smiled timidly and nodded quickly. 

“Come on!” he said before taking back the candle into his hand and walking back to the door, quickly disappearing in the darkness of the corridor. 

Harry threw the book away and got up onto his feet, running after the boy. He walked by his side. At first, it was completely silent. A quite awkward tension was floating over their heads, almost like a grey cloud ready to turn into thunder and lightnings. And Harry silently prayed for the storm not to lash onto them. They walked silently to a double swing wooden door. It was huge and added more to the majestic side of the house. Louis quickly unlocked it and pushed the right side, holding it opened for Harry to follow him inside. It seemed big from what the candle allowed him to see. A large 19th century style wooden desk was in the middle of the room. The tall walls were hidden behind strong and old looking bookcases covered in thousand of books. Harry felt like Belle as the Beast introduced him to his library. Right, it wasn’t as big as the one in the Disney animated movie but still, it looked amazing. He observed attentively as Louis walked toward the left corner of the room and pointed at the middle shelf of the bookcase. 

“That’s where I found the other one this morning.”

Harry walked up to him carefully, his eyes stuck to the parquet to be sure he wouldn’t walk into anything precious and break it. He stopped behind the boy, unsure of what to do. Was he allowed to touch the books? Was he even allowed to be here in the first place? Louis stepped aside and slid his hand in the bottom of the younger boy’s back and pushed it closer to the shelves. 

“You won’t find anything by standing here doing nothing.” Louis chuckled. 

Heat grew quickly to the curly haired boy’s cheeks and he kept silent. He leant over a bit, looking at the different types of spine all over the shelf. There were so many books, some looked old and he was pretty sure they may have been organised by the years of their publication. It could also have been the shelf reserved for French authors because his eyes quickly came across a hardcover copy of Les Misérables. He had studied some of Victor Hugo’s poetry but he knew barely anything about the novel. The collection Johannah had stocked in this room was mind-blowing. He noticed Honoré de Balzac, Charles Baudelaire, Guy de Maupassant or Albert Camus. 

“Did your mother read all of these?”  
“I think so, she loves literature. But, wait...” 

Louis walked behind the boy and stepped on the left, leaning over the shelf and focusing on the books, just like Harry did a couple of seconds earlier. He grabbed a book and handed it to the boy.

“My mum always carried this one with her when I was a kid. I don’t know why, she said it was her ultimate bedside table book. She never agreed on reading it to me though.” 

Harry frowned but looked down to the red covered book with a small black and white picture of a man. Louis brought the candle closer to the book so the younger boy could read, written in golden letters, “ _A Season In Hell_ ”. A large smile stretched his plump lips and he wrapped a hand around the book. 

“Rimbaud!”  
“So, you know him. My mother used to say I was too young to understand this so I never even tried.” he started, chuckling awkwardly as he observed Harry deeply focus as he went through the yellowish pages. “But I remember she always brought back that author you talked about yesterday when talking about this book, so I assumed you knew him too.” he shrugged, a tight smile over his face. 

Harry looked up but turned back to the pages quite quickly. He thought for a moment, mindlessly flying away from the letters neatly inked in the paper to focus on Paul Verlaine and Arthur Rimbaud. He could pick that as a runabout way to find out what Louis felt toward homosexuality. He discreetly looked behind him, analysing the feet between the door and them and the seconds it would take to run away in case it didn’t turn the way he hoped it would. So after faking to focus for a bit more time on the book, he cleared his throat. 

“She probably talked about him because Arthur Rimbaud had most likely wrote this after his terrible break up with Paul Verlaine.”  
“How terrible was the break up for him to write something my mum wouldn’t want me to read?” he simply asked. 

Harry thought he had managed to hear a hint of concern in his voice and he looked up, surprised. Louis was frowning, his eyebrows almost meeting. Harry didn’t know if it was concern or strong curiosity written on his face but it seemed like he truly wanted to hear the answer.

“Terrible enough for it to imply the use of a gun.” 

The older boy’s eyebrows shot up closer to his hairline and Harry thought he was about to laugh but reminded himself of the grave subject they were conversing about. It was not the best time to chuckle.

“Really, did he shot him?”  
“No one died, Rimbaud got touched on his wrist, nothing bad.” he smiled sadly. “It was a tumultuous relationship, the destructive kind of relationship. It was for their best to go separate ways, really.” 

Louis nodded and sat down on the desk as Harry ran his fingers across each pages. The older boy handed him the candle when he noticed how close from his face his guest was holding the book. Harry shot him a timid smile and put the candle on the edge of the shelf, so he could use his hand to turn the pages. His face lightened for a short moment before he cleared his throat again.

“ _What an old maid I’m becoming, lacking the courage to love death! If God would grant me celestial, aerial, calm, prayer – like the ancient saints – the Saints! Strong ones! The anchorites, artists for whom there’s no longer need! Continual farce! My innocence should make me weep. Life is the farce all perform._ ” Harry read out loud before running his fingers across the paper with a content smile. 

He looked up and his eyes locked with Louis’ ones. Even in the darkness of the room, they remained unrealistically bright and alive. It was a beautiful sight and he wished he could just sit here and observe the tiny stars that went and left in the bluest ocean of his irises. He believed he could drown in them, what a cliché. Maybe, if he listened closely, he could imagine the clear sound of the waves crashing against the rocks. Or the warbling of the birds flying through the bluest sky of a summer day. Maybe, if he looked closely, he could spot all the details and be able to create a landscape painting on a blank canvas. Maybe, if he had the courage to, he would. But he didn’t and instead he turned around to read some more book spines. He noticed Rimbaud’s name written on a couple of those but he couldn’t dare to take it off the shelf. He simply admired, without a word, his thoughts flying heavily inside his brain. 

“Did you read any of those?” he finally asked after what seemed to last hours.  
“A couple of years ago, I read Around the World in Eighty Days.” he quickly answered.  
“Jules Verne. I’ve never read any of his works.” 

Louis jumped off the desk and walked closer.

“I am not fond of reading.” he said, leaning on the bookcase, his arms crossed over his chest but his eyes still observing the younger boy with strong interest.

Harry tried not to give any attention to the way he was looked at. He tried not to think too much of it. It was not the time to develop any kind of crush for his host, even though it must have been too late to give himself this remark. He could feel that odd sensation tickling his stomach, he didn’t really like it.

“How did they fall in love?” Louis’ voice broke the boy’s deep thoughts.  
“What?” Harry’s head turned in a sudden. 

He didn’t say a word when a pain kicked in his neck, fortunately it lasted less than a minute. Louis shrugged and looked away from Harry. 

“The poets, how did they meet, how did they get together?” he asked, actually wondering. 

Harry thought for a moment. He had read a lot about them, about their relationship. A relationship that used to fascinate him when he was younger, but now, it scared him more than anything. It was really the first homosexual story he had heard about among poets, something had sounded so romantic about it. But through years, the bright colours he had painted all over this love story got darker, dirtier and he now wished he would never encounter such love in his life.

“Rimbaud sent him some of his poems and Verlaine invited him in Paris to meet him.” he started, he wouldn’t give much details, there was no need to romanticise this kind of unhealthy relationship. “I think Verlaine was intrigued by how different Rimbaud was, he was quite impolite and his personality and behaviour shocked people. He wasn’t the archetype of the 19th century poets, pretty much the opposite, really. Verlaine was married and was about to become a father. But, well, it turned out love grew between them. I think they believed they could understand each other.”  
“That sounds nice, how could it end up so badly?” Louis questioned again. 

Harry sighed and smiled sadly. That was how he had felt at first, that had sounded nice. Then he had read more and more and it turned out it was not that nice after all.

“It was not that nice, really, Verlaine wasn’t the best husband of all, he got drunk and abused his wife, threatened her and their child. He ran away with Rimbaud, but I don’t think it was ever all pink and bubbly. I believe their love did them much more wrong than good. It could have been a beautiful story, but their love was so strong it got dangerous.” he added, shaking his head, his short curls flying around his head. 

Louis smiled at Harry’s knowledge. He wouldn’t have listened to anyone else if they talked about it, because he wouldn’t have cared much. But when the words rolled onto Harry’s tongue to fall off his lips, it sounded much more interesting and he wanted to know more and more about anything he knew. He thought this knowledge looked beautiful on him, it was almost like it was pouring pixie dust all over him to make him shine among the dark. He had never thought intelligence could look so beautiful, so _attractive_. 

“You know so much...” he whispered. 

The low voice he had used took Harry aback and he slowly turned his face to glance at Louis. He wasn’t sure if Louis was bothered or interested, he really couldn’t tell. All he knew was that his heart had suddenly started beating much faster and he could feel his pulse in his neck. Louis looked so beautiful so suddenly. The reflection of the flame was dancing onto his face, shadows and lights sharing a waltz. It was so incredibly appealing he couldn’t find the strength to look away.

“I like it, knowledge fits so well on you.” 

Harry breathed in deeply and forced himself to look away. He cleared his throat and although he had tried is hardest to stop the painful heat from burning his cheeks, they were already covered with a soft pinkish veil. Louis smiled and looked down to his feet. 

“I am sorry if I embarrassed you.” he apologised kindly, slightly embarrassed himself.  
“No, it’s just, I am not used to that. It surprised me.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“People usually think my knowledge in that subject is weird. I don’t contradict them, I just like to know about poets and poetry and write poems.” he said, leaning on the desk, the back of his thighs pressed against the wood. 

He focused on the book he was holding, mindlessly opening it and playing with the pages. The tension was heavy and it was getting harder for both of them to breathe properly. It wasn’t the kind of tension that would turn into a storm, but rather one that hide secret intentions and wishes. Wishes we can’t express unless we know the other’s. Louis took some steps forward, stopping before their knees could meet. 

“Well I think it’s attractive. It gives you more charm, almost like a 19th century kind, talented and good looking poet.” he started, observing as Harry’s head fell lower and lower. “A poet I’d want to lay down and listen to all night. A poet I’d want to be the muse of. A poet I’d do anything to earn the respect of. That kind of poet.” 

Harry swore his heart had stopped behind his ribs, his lungs seemed emptier than ever and he was not able to speak. And even if he was able to, what could he answer to that? He was facing an unprecedented situation. Was it what flirting was? Was he supposed to flirt back? How do you flirt? Compliments aren’t flirting, but those seemed a bit more than just random compliments.

“Will you read to me, make me discover your world, teach me how to play with words?” Louis continued. 

The older boy’s throat was so tight he had to force the words out. He liked the way things were going, he just hoped he wasn’t freaking Harry out. 

“I want to learn more. If you enjoy it so much, I want to know about it. Will you help me?” 

Harry brought some sense to his head to nod slowly. He didn’t know if he was supposed to look up and look at Louis. What was it all about? Did Louis only want to know about poetry, out of interest? Or was it about him? He didn’t know and his brain hurt badly from the hard thinking. He slowly lifted his face, a gentle smile was slightly stretching the other boy’s thin lips.

“I wondered one last thing.” he whispered. 

He was suddenly closer to him, Harry’s bent knees were pressed against Louis’ straight ones. Some strange electricity ran up their bodies, at the same time but none of them said anything about it. The secret remained hidden into their mind. The younger boy nodded once again, encouraging Louis to say more. He heard him swallow and the knot around his stomach tightened at the sound. 

“What if I tried to kiss the poet?” 

Louis bit down onto his lip anxiously. What if he was violently pushed away? What if he was rejected? What if Harry changed room because he was scared and would sleep in the guest room with his mother? How would the rest of the holidays goes? 

“Try and see...” 

And, wow, what had got into Harry so suddenly? Where had he found all this courage? Maybe it was the adrenaline of the moment. Or maybe it was the soft light of the candle dancing on their faces. Maybe their sudden closeness or the way Louis talked to him. He didn’t know but there was something for sure. Slowly, Louis leant over, carefully resting his palms on the desk, on each side of the boy’s hips. Harry’s eyes drifted to his lips. His throat was to tight, his stomach tightly knotted, his hands clammy and his lungs painfully empty. Soon after, Louis’ thin lips brushed against his and he swore there wasn’t any candle breaking the darkness of the room. He swore they were alone in the office, but also in the whole house. He was having his first kiss with a man but oddly enough, he wasn’t nervous about disappointing Louis or being a so called bad kisser. He was anxious about Louis running away, claiming it had never happened, just a short moment of heat in the excitement of a night deprived of electricity. He didn’t want that beautiful moment to end in a rush, or to end in some dramatic scene. Harry had a soul of a dreamer and secretly, he wished Louis’ lips wouldn’t have to leave his. It set fire to his stomach and he wondered how the butterflies hidden in there could still flap their wings, but they did. It took a couple of minutes for Louis to step away, and another minute for them to dare look up and allow they eyes to meet. Their cheeks were red, burning as hot as their lips. 

“I kissed the poet.” Louis whispered, his breath caressing Harry’s cheek. “And he kissed me back.” 

Harry smiled shyly, looking down and biting his bottom lip awkwardly. He was ready to bet it was the best Christmas of all, and he knew he would win. And now he knew, he knew Louis’ eyes would inspire his first poem, and his delicious lips the second. The unknown poet has found his muse.

**The Quotes**

****

**"You who suffer because you love, love still more. To die of love is to live by it."**

****

**"The sky is copper without any gleam, one seems to see the moon live and die."**

****

**"I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still."**

**Author's Note:**

> Hi to everyone who managed to read the whole thing and thank you very much if you did !  
> Comment your opinion, let me know what you think of that short story which is my very first ever short story.  
> It was a real, big challenge for me to write this. Originally it was supposed to be a 15 chapters long story but I thought I could turn it into a short story for Christmas and I hope you liked it :) 
> 
> I wondered, did anyone of you know Arthur Rimbaud or Paul Verlaine or any French writer at all? If not, do you read poetry or do you prefer novel? I'm a huge fan of their works and I hope I managed to make you want to know a bit more :)  
>  **If you want to learn more about their relationship, here's some useful links :**
> 
> ○ Their relationship (I didn't manage to find any better article in english): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arthur_Rimbaud#Life_with_Verlaine_(1871%E2%80%931875)  
> ○ The letters they had sent to each other: http://www.mag4.net/Rimbaud/en/DocumentsE2.html  
> ○ You can also watch the movie Total Eclispe staring Leonardo DiCaprio as Rimbaud that is centered on their relationship. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading me, thank you very much !  
> Don't forget to be careful if you celebrate New Year Eve, your safety is important! :)  
> Take care of you ♥
> 
> -Lisa


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